Informative, interesting, compelling, if his previous work is to be any indication.

Mark Bowden has a new book out, and I think I’ll run out tomorrow night after work and pick up a copy (scratch that, I’ll wait for the softcover).

(Oh, and Alan Furst has a new book, too).

Tonight was apparently “season finale night”, oddly I’m not that upset about missing the 2-hour Grey’s Anatomy final of the season. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s an above average show, it’s just that a few weeks ago a cop got blown up in the hallway by a grenade, and now a doc got shot on his way in to prevent Izzy from doing something really stupid, which of course she did, oh my gosh can you say jumpin’ the damn shark? Truthfully, I binged this week on Scrubs, what with the third season being released on DVD, and I’ve kind of had my fill of shows about doctors set in a hospital where the main character narrates the episode. Oh, and back to Grey’s … someone needs to smack Chris O’Donnell around — tell ya’ what, stick him in the middle of an ABC hour long soap opera, you’d think it would shine a light on the poor quality of the casts’ acting ability, instead of vice-versa. Chris O’Donnell, how in the name of Zeus’ BUTTHOLE (thank you, Nick Cage) did you EVER find yourself a movie star?

In any case, tonight was “season finale night”, even though the only one I can think of (off the top of my head) is Grey’s Anatomy. This, according to Chewbacca, who because it was so slow, was out the door by eight o’clock. And it was slow. I had six deliveries between five and seven, and I had no deliveries until nine, when four orders came into the store within ten minutes of each other.

A big problem — for me — was that absolutely none of these orders were anywhere near each other. This resulted in some crazy driving, skidding down back country roads while my fingers clutched the steering wheel so tight my knuckles were white. Greg’s big on reminding us “hustle on your feet, not on the street.” It’s a corporate safety slogan, and it makes sense, which is why I totally ignored it.

Routing and getting out the door was a challenge, and I do like challenges. I took the first two, the oldest orders, together. I ran north into Harford County, then backtracked west onto Phoenix Road. I would’ve liked to have taken the other Harford County with this one, but time was a’wastin’, and at least the other two were straight-shots on opposite ends of Jarrettsville Pike. After dropping the first order off at a farm under renovation off a desolate, poorly paved road, I shot down a variety of backroads to make my Phoenix stop.

There’s a road called Philpot that connects Carroll Road with Phoenix Road. It’s maybe a mile and a half long. The west end of it is nice and wide, and two trucks can pass each other with ease. The east end is the complete opposite. I had a friend at Towson who worked at UPS in Sparks, and she told me that new drivers had to take their trucks down Philpot as a final test of their skills. I avoid Philpot whenever I have the chance — the east end is barely wide enough for my Celica, and it twists and winds up a hillside. Off the road to the north is a steep drop, and to the south a steep climb. Knowing I could shave needed minutes from my time, I took Philpot, a gamble that paid off as I only encountered another vehicle on the west end of the road.

Returning from that delivery, I had to take my second double. I was nightmaring about new orders continuing to come in, and finding a delivery screen completely filled with addresses. Thankfully, that was not the case. I had two runs to take, the same that had been being made when I’d left on my previous runs.

One was south, about halfway between the store and the Dulaney Valley bridge across the Reservoir. The other was north, just past Jarrettsville’s intersection with Rt. 152. I took the north run first, knowing that it had been called in earlier (a whopping two minutes), and that at this time of night (9:50) the road would be deserted enough and with few enough obstacles that I could make excellent time. I didn’t limit myself to the speed limit, setting a cruising speed of about fifteen over and getting through the light while it was still brightly green. Indeed I did make excellent time, hitting (not literally) no slow-moving traffic on my way up, I arrived at the street in less than ten minutes, where I slowed to a reasonable neighborhood speed, found their address, and dropped their pies off, to hurried to make sense of the joke the guy made in response to mine (”Your order is $400.” “Got change for $1000?” I nearly said, “Uh, are you serious?”), and then bustled southbound.

Heading southbound, I knew I’d be fine as far as Four Corners. Once past there, I’d have to reduce my speed — check that, would reduce my speed. It’s one of the densest points of the area, plus the road isn’t as straight and easy going as it is further north. Factor in the shopping centers, the lights, and people pulling in and out of the gas stations, and safety becomes a major concern.

I was constantly checking my digital clock on the dash. I’d taken this phone order myself, at 9:15. I’d told the guy forty-five minutes to an hour, and as I passed the blinking yellow light at Merryman’s Mill, I had six minutes before it would be officially late. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve got no killer incentive to get it to the guy ‘on time’, just a desire not to be excessively late with it, and as the fellow’s a regular customer and excellent tipper, it was painful being as late as I was with his order, I wanted to fulfill my promise.

And I did. I dropped his pizza off at exactly 10:15, then made my way — at the legal speed limit — back to the store. Fun hour, that.

At the Franchise, we only sell what’s on the menu. Pizzas. Wings. Breadorders. Soda.

Some woman came into the shop yesterday wanting to buy an unfolded bundle of large boxes. And for some reason, E.G. said “Yes.”

E.G., we don’t sell stuff that’s on the menu. Here’s why:

1. Corporate espionage — some new pizza company might want to see how our parent company makes our pizza boxes. Unlikely, since they could just order a pizza and look at the box it comes in.

2. Inventory — our commissary order for the week was already placed. It’s possible that we won’t get any bundles of large boxes because Steve decided what we had was enough. In this case, employees might have to scramble about to buy another bundle of boxes from another store because if we run out …

3. … here’s a basic rule of the pizza biz: you can’t sell a pizza without a box. We don’t have an eat-in-section, and a large pie won’t fit in a medium box. With our current extra-large special running, we couldn’t use extra large boxes as a “fill over” because we’re going through those too fast. A bundle of large boxes is $16. But if we run out of those boxes, the store could lose $500 in sales.

4. Some dickhead could use those boxes, make their own pizzas, sell them as ours (what with having our very logoed boxes), and then when people get sick of ‘em, who they going to come around and bitch at? You got it: E.G. (because I’ll be hiding in the back).

Sometimes, I think common sense is dead.

“They” in this case being young men living in rural areas, driving SUVs and pickup trucks sans seat belt. According to a study by the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, “[a]bout 48 million motorists — many of them young men living in rural areas and driving pickups — don’t wear safety belts.”

Only 21% of Americans live in rural communities, but rural crashes accounted for 58% of traffic fatalities in 2004, according to a NHTSA report. About 82% of Americans now wear safety belts, up from 71% in 2000, and Glassman says 15,400 lives are saved every year because of restraints.

Safety officials say that males make up 83% of pickup occupants killed in crashes, and most are ages 18-39.

So, back to the title, “I’d say they deserve to die.” Y’know, what with being that stupid and all.